Memories of Kharlan
by The.Melanarchist
Summary: Deleted Scenes, Short Stories, and Excerpts from the longer story 'The Great Kharlan War'. Full of arguments, campfire scenes, Kratos/Yuan friendship, and an inordinate amount of Kratos!whump. Most recent: Sickness Part 2: Kratos' illness brings about an admission Yuan hardly expected. 'Sickness' concluded.
1. Sickness (1)

**(A/N) I'm not dead. I swear it. I apologize for the delay on getting things out. Summer is hectic for me, and school looms on the horizon.**

 **I figured I kept my followers waiting for far too long, and in hopes of getting my WB out of the way, I'm publishing a collection of one-shots or short stories from The Great Kharlan War, my longfic staged during the first true Journey of Regeneration. You in no way need to have read that story to understand what is going on, but it'll help.**

 **Thus these snippets will focus around the legendary four - Martel, Mithos, Yuan, and Kratos - but mostly Kratos/Yuan friendship.**

 **If you haven't read TGKW at all, you should know that Kratos is a Tethe'allan royal, and Yuan a Sylvaranti commander, and peculiar circumstances pushed them together. Neither of them have much family to speak of.**

 **Disclaimer: IDOTOS**

So the first addition:

* * *

 ** _Sickness (Part 1 of 2)_**

* * *

 _This was intended to be a part following an investigation into the Ozette flu that never surfaced in The Great Kharlan War, but I really wanted to write it, so it's been sitting in a word document for forever._

 _The preface: Yuan, Martel, and Mithos have all been sick while they searched for the cure for the afflicted townspeople, and Kratos was reunited with the party after the ordeal was solved. Having no built up immunity, he falls ill much later than the others. Typhon was the eldest son of the Aurion family, and also the first of Kratos' siblings to die in the war effort. When Kratos left the castle, his aging father, the King of Tethe'alla, was very feeble. Shortly after the man died, and Kratos harbors an intense guilt._

* * *

"I'm the eldest, so I'm in charge!" The half-elf proclaimed childishly, sticking up his nose at Kratos' objection. "On that note, you need to do as I say and rest." When the swordsman proceeded to flip him off, Yuan realized how stubborn he was going to be.

"Seriously, Kratos. It was only a matter of time before your immune system gave in. We've all had it, too. It doesn't mean you're weak if you're sick." A very pointed look was directed towards him.

"Yuan, by definition, sickness presents weakness." The flush of his skin was a testament to that.

"Fine, fine. But don't get so defensive about it. You're sick. You _will_ get better." The halfling rolled his eyes. Kratos scoffed regardless.

"I am _not_ sick. We don't have time to stop and rest any longer than we already have. The mana balance is at stake, need I remind you?" His words contrasted with the shaky grip on his hilt and the clammy pallor of his face.

"You can't very well help us save the world if you're under the weather!" Yuan was getting fed up.

"I'm not!" was the barked retort.

"Yes, you are!"

"So help me, Yuan I will-"

"What? Sneeze on me?"

"I'd sooner skewer you."

"As if you could in your state!"

"Hn." A weary smirk.

"Not on your best day, and most certainly not today!" Yuan amended.

"I'm _not_ sick, Kaafei!"

* * *

"What's going on?" Martel interjected smoothly into the escalating quarrel, managing to catch the two in a shouting match, faces fuming.

"Nothing." Kratos averted his gaze from Yuan and slickly transitioned to a state of deceptive calm. Yuan's eyes narrowed accusingly.

"He's a stubborn prick, is all." The halfling muttered, crossing his arms. Kratos looked as if he wanted to argue that point as well, before he sighed in defeat and kept silent. Martel sized up both of the swordsmen curiously. While Yuan was irate and clearly still peeved, Kratos no longer appeared angry. Rather, he seemed exhausted—with bags under his eyes and skin rosy with the heat of a fever.

"Kratos, you're sick." Martel decided flatly, immediately detecting disagreement in the man.

"I can handle myself. We need to keep moving." Despite the strength to his voice, his eyes were drowsy from the conversation alone.

"We'd make up more time with you well rested than a slow day wasted." She coaxed rationally, a small smile quirking her lips in amusement. However, the smile vanished when she caught the faraway look in his eyes. He didn't appear as if he was all... _there_ , as if some part of him was catching whispers from the past, or the future. He most certainly wasn't in the present.

"Kratos? Are you okay?" Yuan gripped the human's shoulder lightly. The halfling had noticed as well.

"I-I'm fine." He murmured, more dazed than she had ever seen him.

* * *

Kratos' head spun, a dull ache in addition to a terrible sense of overheating. His eyes wouldn't focus on Martel in front of him, and no matter how much he would deny it later, he was grateful for the steadying hand Yuan had placed on his shoulder.

Dammit. He _was_ sick.

It sounded like someone was talking to him, a muffled sound so familiar that he struggled to make out the words. Martel was speaking to him, but it wasn't her voice he was hearing. An older timbre, a warm one that he hadn't heard for so long...

 _"It's all your fault."_

The clarity in which he was hallucinating startled Kratos. His father's voice seemed magnified tenfold within his head.

 _"You killed me."_

Kratos knew the words were delusions, but the force of his repressed guilt hit him like a storm. He swayed on his feet, uncomprehendingly retreating within himself at the antagonizing tone his father had never employed. Absently he could hear Martel's musical words as if there was a wall between them.

"His fever's out of control, I think he's half-delirious." Her speech fell on empty ears, for all he could bring himself to say repeated itself like a mantra, again and again.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault."

* * *

To say Yuan was worried was an understatement. His best friend was falling apart at the seams, and he could do little more than brace him. As the human sunk into a sitting position muttering words Yuan couldn't make out, the halfling felt himself grow frantic. What was wrong with him? What could he do to help?

"Get some cold water! Do you know anything to bring down a fever?" His panicked self refocused on Martel, eyes locked with hers and pleading. _Fix him_. The woman's brow was puckered in worry, and she gave a short nod.

"I know an herbal concoction, but it may take some time to get together." She spun around purposefully to go get her pack, while Yuan remained transfixed at Kratos' side.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault." Eyes fixed on something beyond or within, Yuan couldn't tell, but his heart clenched. Despite the tough exterior built during their travels together, the Sylvaranti knew Kratos was hurting on the inside, grief and guilt from his childhood bottling up without an outlet. He never expected it to break the surface, and the fact that the man's fever brought on such a bout of helplessness scared Yuan. Knowing it was there and _seeing_ it were two utterly clashing things.

"It's not your fault, Kratos."

Even when the rest of them had gotten sick, it had never been so bad. Yuan put a hand to the Tethe'allan's forehead, pushing back damp locks of hair. His skin was scathing to the touch, and Yuan had no difficulty believing that the swordsman was rambling. For a brief moment, Kratos' smoldering eyes made contact with Yuan's and he thought that his friend was back. Yuan clenched the human's arm in what he hoped was reassurance. Knuckles white, though, it may have been more of an iron grip.

"Let go of me," Kratos' voice was soft and hoarse, but Yuan felt a little relieved. At least he was back down to-

"Typhon, _let go_." The halfling froze.

.

.

Kratos thought he was _his dead brother_.

* * *

 **(A/N) To be fair, I'm quite cruel and go a bit overboard on H/C. So these pieces are things I wanted to put in TGKW but didn't fit perfectly. Let me know what you think, and I hope a few regular updates here can tide over my readers until I get my act together.**


	2. Sickness (2)

**(A/N) Thanks for everyone who is still reading. I appreciate it.**

 **Disclaimer: IDOTOS**

And the conclusion to _Sickness_ :

* * *

 ** _Sickness (Part 2 of 2)_**

* * *

 _For 'The Great Kharlan War' context and preface, see Part 1._

* * *

"Let go of me," Kratos' voice was soft and hoarse, but Yuan felt a little relieved. At least the human was back down to-

"Typhon, _let go_." The halfling froze.

.

.

Kratos thought he was _his dead brother_.

.

.

It took a moment for the Sylvaranti to compose himself.

.

"You're sick, it's _Yuan_." He felt as if he was talking to a child, but Kratos was unseeing and stuck somewhere between his past and the present. His usually sharp eyes were glazed over and unfocused. So many memories that Yuan burned to know about, were flashing behind those orbs, but the halfling swallowed his inquiries. He didn't want to learn about them like this.

It was wrong.

So while Kratos mumbled apologies to his dead father and his dead brothers and his sister, Yuan did his best not to listen. He remembered what seemed like ages ago, how furious he had been when the Cruxis Crystal incident first came to light. Their fight had taught him much about privacy, and he wasn't about to cross the line this time. This was not the moment to wonder _why_ Kratos connected him with a deceased sibling, or _why_ Kratos' guilt extended to even _them_. This was the moment to bring the sanity back and allow his friend to build his front back up and save face.

Kratos wouldn't want sympathy, but Yuan couldn't _help_ it. The part of Kratos that would _want_ to save face was a mess right now, and would he even _remember_ if Yuan were to express it? It was only because he respected the swordsman so that he even hesitated—but the contortion of the human's face into one of pain destroyed that hesitation in a flash. The halfling cradled the Tethe'allan's shoulders, gently lowering him to lie flat in the grass.

At the cool touch, Kratos hissed and his eyes cleared a little. His brow creased in confusion.

"Typhon?" He asked again. And Yuan tried not to look as if the hope-veiled guardedness in the name broke his heart.

"No, it's Yuan."

Kratos' breath hitched and a slow exhale brought an even deeper furrow to his expression. There was a small spark of recognition behind the glassy look and the swordsman mumbled something incoherent. Disappointment shuddered through his frame and the Sylvaranti could only grimace in empathy.

"—'orry." He slurred faintly, "It's the eyes." He continued on as if it made perfect sense, "You have the same eyes."

And despite the dash of clarity in a sea of haze, Kratos averted his gaze and tried to pull himself back to his feet. Yuan kept him down with less force than the task should have required.

"Just stay here." He murmured, the sense of being tender completely foreign. But Kratos still twisted into a sitting position once more, using Yuan's shoulder to pull himself up. He was mumbling nonsense again and there was darkness in his eyes.

"What did you mean?" Yuan said, hoping that his friend was lucid enough to be distracted by the question. It was as if Kratos' confusion was only intensified with this (but gratefully, Yuan noticed the guilt abate).

"By what?"

"Did Typhon have blue eyes?" Admittedly, he should have picked a better distraction than one that could stir up traumatic memories. Kratos gave him a strange look, (as if of all the ridiculous things that had come up, _Yuan_ was the one speaking gibberish).

"No."

And Yuan was so thoroughly befuddled by this that he let the matter drop.

* * *

Kratos' journey back to full health was a painstaking one, but he gradually gained coherency as Martel was able to bring the fever down. Yuan did what he could to get the swordsman back on his feet, and as soon as Kratos was actually _capable_ of standing, he was hell-bent on resuming their travel plans.

And thus, three days later, a slightly-less-sickly human and slightly-more-at-ease half-elf trailed Martel and Mithos on the road again. Yuan had kept a careful watch on his companion, and though there were signs of exhaustion, there were none of imminent collapse.

Yuan's relief was spoiled with the itch of curiosity.

"There was a moment—," He did his best to approach the frustrating matter tentatively, "—back there, where you…"

Would it be like rubbing salt in the wound? He let the sentence trail off into nothing instead, watching Kratos carefully to see how he might tread.

"I take back whatever I may have said." Kratos' reply was swift.

The mere mention of the sickness had him stiffening his posture and swiping a hand through his hair (the closest thing to sheepish the man might _ever_ be).

"I don't believe I was in my right mind."

.

However, the conversation was much less strained than the halfling expected it to be, so he braved on.

"Actually, you confused me a bit."

Kratos raised an eyebrow to elicit elaboration.

.

"You called me Typhon."

.

.

The human actually stopped walking for a few seconds, eyes a little wider than usual, but otherwise nothing amiss.

"I did what?"

"You said we had 'the same eyes' or something like that." Now _that_ did strike some kind of chord in the swordsman, because his face tipped down and a fringe of auburn shadowed his eyes.

"Hn. I see." He deadpanned, "I apologize for confusing you."

And he started walking again.

.

Now, ignoring that that was almost the _second_ apology he had received from the man just _today_ , Yuan was flustered. He snagged the sleeve of Kratos' tunic as he passed to keep him in place.

"You don't get to walk off like that! I don't want an apology—I just want to know _why_."

Though reluctant, the Tethe'allan didn't have the stubborn look about him that he usually did. He sighed (as did more and more often lately) and pinched the bridge of his nose.

.

"It's stupid, Yuan. Leave it be."

.

 _Ah._ So Kratos may not remember _this_ circumstance, but thoughts like them had crossed his mind _before_.

And it was private _._ Now, Yuan could not leave it be.

"C'mon. Out with it." He checked his smile, because having a reticent Kratos was so much more fun than a sick one.

.

"It's nothing."

" _Kratos_."

.

.

"They're the same color." Kratos tried, and Yuan simply smiled and inclined his head.

"Bullshit."

Burnet met cerulean as their gazes locked. Perhaps Kratos was still recovering, because Yuan thought that he actually _won_ this staring contest.

.

"You just… remind me of him."

.

Apparently, Yuan's pestering had done the trick, because Kratos continued slowly.

"Aether was charismatic. He was always doing the right thing—the noble thing, and he was always smiling about it. I think," the words were coming quicker and more naturally now, "—out of all of us, he would have made the best King." The touch of nostalgia made Yuan feel instantly guilty for pushing the human so hard. The teasing struck a sour note that nearly hurt to hear.

"Thetis was more like me. He kept to himself. He didn't look for attention, and he didn't share much—but I always got the impression that he knew what he was doing. He was confident."

And when Kratos spoke, his voice was softer and sadder, and fond with their memory.

"But Typhon—he was the oldest. He was always up to something, laughing at what wasn't funny and pestering Nyx at every waking moment. He'd take the time to practice swordsmanship with the younger kids and I can't remember a single moment when he was ever angry with us."

.

"We were very—"

The flow of words staggered to a halt.

"—different."

.

"But we got on really well."

.

And damn, if Yuan didn't feel like a terrible friend for forcing _that_ out of the human.

.

"Oh."

.

(And it wasn't _enough_ , but Yuan knew there was nothing he could say to make it right.)

.

What that had to do with his _eyes_ , though, Yuan couldn't be sure. And it was as if Kratos could tell exactly what he was thinking because he completely averted his gaze and muttered lowly,

.

"You look at me the same way he did."

.

He could definitely tell that Kratos was feeling discomfort—embarrassment even—from sharing so much (because touchy-feeling emotions evidently were not things he knew how to handle). Yuan couldn't keep the smile from his face then, either, because truly—the sentiment was saccharine in a way Kratos just _wasn't_.

But the swordsman had been thinking it all along.

So Yuan didn't tease (or else the Tethe'allan would _never_ share again), but instead put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

Kratos didn't shake it off for once (though he never acknowledged it either), and Yuan's grin widened.

.

Because, really, there were worse things than reminding your best friend of his older brother.

.

But Yuan was Yuan and thus the urge to tease was simply overwhelming.

"You know, I've always wanted a kid-brother." He stated matter-of-factly.

Kratos wasted no time roughly shoving Yuan's arm off his shoulder.

.

"Hn." The disgruntled response.

.

.

"It's good to have you back."

.

It was quietly spoken, but that was enough.

* * *

 **(A/N) Hope you all enjoyed the short piece. Apologies for the grotesque amount of feels in a simple H/C excerpt.**

 **Next up: The Hima Incident - a short story staged during the five year gap in Sylvarant, and alluded to in Chapter 23 of TGKW. Essentially, an excuse to take Kratos out of his element again.**

 **Thanks for reading. Toss me a review!**


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